


Day 17 - Spooning

by elessar_undomiel



Series: 30 Day OTP Challenge - Johnlock [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Spooning, Tattoo!lock, tattoolock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-12 01:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4460228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elessar_undomiel/pseuds/elessar_undomiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He wrapped his arms tighter around John’s chest and buried his face in the crook of his neck, thanking whichever force that rules the world for making them bump into each other."</p><p>In which John's tattoos tell the story of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 17 - Spooning

**Author's Note:**

> This can be considered a sequel of Day 15, set a couple of years later, but it can be read as a stand-alone :)

Sherlock brushed lightly the outline of John’s bicep.

He liked being the big spoon: John was his shield during the day. He protected him from crazy serial killers, fighting next to him and saving his life with his controlled rage, his courage and his incredible aim. He protected him from those who called him freak, sometimes yelling at them, sometimes with cold sarcasm and a murderous gaze, sometimes calmly pointing out Sherlock was right and they were envious idiots; sometimes he didn’t even hear them, but Sherlock didn’t care because John loved him, so anyone else could go to hell. He protected him from himself, because now he had a reason to live, a reason to be cautious and come back home in one piece, a reason not to surrender to the call of the needle.

But at night he was John’s shield: he never had nightmares when Sherlock held him protectively to his chest. The war wasn’t a spectre anymore, it was just a memory, the scar of a wound that would never heal completely but that would hurt less and less.

Furthermore, being the big spoon gave him the chance to look at him when the nights were too long for his sleep needs. His eyes drank every inch of his skin as if it was the first time. He loved examining John’s tattoos over and over again, most of all the latest ones, which talked of them.

The Rod of Asclepius along his spine and the two guns that emphasised his v-line dated back to the years in the army.

A thin line around his bicep represented a flat ECG with an only heartbeat; he got that when Sherlock had died and then miraculously come back to life. It had taken Sherlock a lot of time to find the courage to tell John that he had been the reason why he was alive. He feared John would mock him; he hugged him and cried instead, and then they had some quite memorable sex. Sherlock loved caressing that particular tattoo, as he was doing in that moment.

Then there was an anatomically accurate heart on his chest, with S-shaped veins. Sherlock had an identical tattoo with a J: they got them a few months after they met, when it was clear that none of them could ever live without the other.

Sherlock couldn’t see the “I am Sherlocked” tattoo in his lower back, but he know it was pressed against the “Veritas” in his lower lower belly. That tattoo had been a surprise: John had come back home one day and showed him, making him speechless for almost half an hour. John was getting quite worried when Sherlock had finally dashed and hugged him, making them both fall to the ground.

And then there were the little meaningless stars, flowers, stripes and doodles that Sherlock loved kissing and nipping and worshipping in any possible way.

John’s body was a masterpiece. Though, not for his tattoos: those were beautiful symbols of his past and their present, but his slightly tanned skin, his strong muscles, his little hint of tummy, his light wrinkles, his kind smile, his deep blue eyes, his soft lips, his throbbing heart were the most astonishing artwork Sherlock could ever imagine.

He wrapped his arms tighter around John’s chest and buried his face in the crook of his neck, thanking whichever force that rules the world for making them bump into each other.


End file.
